


after the storm

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [69]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 15:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18968326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Newt's just been released





	after the storm

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "Prompt for Pacific Rim! "You are finding nicer and nicer ways of calling me an idiot.""

It takes three hours and fourteen minutes for the Precursors to shout Newt hoarse, raging on about how they will be  _back_ , they will  _conquer_  this  _wretched planet_ , your luck is  _running out—_

Hermann watches, a matching snarl rising in his own throat, bites it back, relegated to watching through the security cameras.

It takes five days, six hours and thirteen minutes before finally, finally,  _finally,_ Newt slumps back against the chair he’s strapped into, no longer struggling, and then, with a shrill  _beep_ , his vitals drop, leaving Hermann on the edge of his seat, glued to the monitors, grip tight on the head of his cane as he prays, with every ounce of his power, that Newt will get through this. And suddenly, in that moment, this is not  _enough_ , he has to be  _there_ , he has to  _see_  him—

Hermann’s striding out and down the hall, the guards, for a moment, too shocked to move and stop him from bursting through the door, rushing to Newt’s side, heedless of the protestations of the medical staff around him. His vitals stabilise for a second before flatlining, and Hermann shouts, “You cannot  _do_  this to me, Newton, don’t you  _dare—_ ”

Words fail him, and the guards drag him out.

It takes a further three weeks before, finally, finally, Newt is cleared of any involvement. Hermann thinks he could cry at that—relief, relief, relief.

* * *

“Sorry about the,” Newt gestures to his own neck, though the movement is restricted slightly by the manacles on his wrists, and he drops his hands. They’ve still got him in the same clothes he was wearing the day of his apprehension, though the jacket is gone. The shirt is blood-stained and rumpled, and there are bruise-like black marks under his eyes. His voice is quiet, and Hermann wonders if speaking aggravates the split lip.

He gives a one-shouldered shrug, watches as Newt’s gaze skitters away from his own whenever he tries to meet it. “Let’s take those off,” he says, instead of addressing the other’s words. “There’s no need for you to be wearing them any longer.”

It takes a few moments to figure out  _how_  to—there’s no slot for a key, no combination, and it’s accidental when he brushes his thumb over a slightly lighter patch of metal and there’s a  _click_  and the mechanism unlocks. “Would it have been such a hardship to inform me of that?” Hermann grumbles, and Newt starts.

“I didn’t—”

“Not  _you_ ,” Hermann huffs.  _Never you_. “Though  _you_ could’ve done something  _besides_  Drift with a kaiju brain, Newton,  _honestly_ , as if I wasn’t  _there_  and willing—” It’s reflexive, falling back into bickering, and it startles a raspy laugh from Newt.

“You’re finding nicer and nicer ways of calling me an idiot,” he says, and winces, rubs the red skin on his wrists.

Hermann frowns, takes Newt’s hands and inspects the irritated skin. After a moment, he says, “Allergies—of course. Did those fools even  _look_ at your medical file—? No, don’t answer that,” he cuts the other off. “And I was calling you an idiot flat-out, Newton, there was no mucking around and hiding behind nicer words there.”

Newt tips his head to the side and blinks at Hermann slowly, as if assessing for— _something_. “Well,” he says, at length, “I’d argue it  _is_  nice. You haven’t called me  _anything_  in the last decade.”

“I’m sure I cursed you in private on more than one occasion,” Hermann returns, not as drily as he intends, words slightly choked instead. He clears his throat a few times, blinks away the tears suddenly welling in his eyes. “Apologies,” he murmurs, “I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m not sad—I shouldn’t be sad.”

“Why not?” Newt questions, “Hermann, you have  _every_  right to be sad. I mean, first off,  _I_ wasn’t there, so—”

“You’re  _incorrigible_ ,” Hermann says, but his heart’s not in it. “I hate you. You—you self-centred  _kaiju-groupie_.”

Newt’s smile is tentative, but it’s  _there_. “See,” he says, “that’s the Hermann I remember. And that’s  _Doctor Kaiju-Groupie_  to you, mister. I didn’t go through all of that just to have people forget my  _title—_ ”

“Oh yes,  _ten years of experience, man, I’m so sorry_ ,” Hermann mocks, almost without thinking about it, and then when he realises what he’s said, draws in a sharp breath. “I—”

Newt grabs his hand before he can back away. “Hey,” he says softly, “hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, Hermann. It’s okay. I’m not going to break like some sort of ancient reliquary just because you say the wrong thing, okay? And anyway, it  _was_  funny.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Hermann says, a tremble in his voice, but he doesn’t pull away. “I—I spent too many years doing just that. I don’t want to go back to that, Newton.”

The other lets out a harsh breath, and when he speaks, it’s strangely stymied. “I don’t want to, either. I don’t know if—if I even  _could_.”

“ _Good_ ,” Hermann says, decisively, and squeezes Newt’s hand. “Now, let’s get out of here and get you into a set of clean clothing. Those look  _horrid_.”

This time, Newt’s smile is wide—his eyes are a bit wild, dried blood flecking his skin in various places, hair wild, but—

He smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [three-black-cats](https://three-black-cats.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
